"Oh, the facts were straight enough," she said bitterly. "It was the
reasons he concealed. They thought you didn't have a chance, so they
did all sorts of strange things they never tried on anyone else. You
were an experiment, that's all--but you surprised them."
The hospital was looking for the wrong mental case. They had one
working for them and didn't know it. He didn't doubt that she was
right--about his being an experiment--but her observations were wrong.
It was due entirely to their unorthodox procedures that he was alive.
She looked him over carefully and he knew that the halves of his face
didn't match by a ridiculous margin, that one shoulder was heavier than
the other, that his hair was in three colors. Even in repose and fully
clothed, so that some of the discrepancies of his physique were hidden,
he was hardly presentable.
"When I saw you standing there today, I realized what they had done to
you and my loyalty to the institution and the doctor vanished," she
said earnestly. "And the psychotherapy isn't to help you, it's to make
sure you won't protest over what they've done. That's why I had to get
you away. They've ruined you and now _you_ must ruin _them_."
He had half-suspected it would come to this--but he hadn't been sure.
"I don't want to ruin them," he said slowly. "I'd rather be alive, even
as an experiment. And if you're thinking of a malpractice suit, you saw
the files. I couldn't win against that."
"I ought to know about the files--I worked on them." Her eyes sparkled
and her voice lowered. "What if the evidence is missing?"
* * * * *
He sat back. With her co-operation, the vital parts of the file could
vanish and, with that gone, he could collect a staggering amount from
the institution. He had only to appear and no jury or panels of experts
would decide against him. Is that what she had planned so swiftly
in the director's office--that she would share the money with him?
Somehow, he couldn't believe money meant that much to her. "I can't
permit it," he said. "In spite of everything, I feel obligated."
She flung herself across the narrow space. "I expected you to be
noble," she sobbed. "One look at you, and I knew I had met the
loneliest person in the world."
Like called to like, at least for her, and that explained why she had
grimaced when she had first seen him. It was her counterpart of the
receptionist's reaction. It explained, too, why she was willing to turn
against the doctor she had previously adored. As for the money, she
didn't want it for herself, but as bait for him--and he'd have to take
her with it.
She had guessed wrong on all counts. He would have thrust her away, but
it would have been too cruel. He tried to comfort her, and she dried
her eyes on his shoulder. "Darling," she sniffled. "I've never yielded
to any man, but if it will help you...."
She pressed close and he couldn't get away without breaking through
the thin walls of the cramped apartment. He had never known a female
form could be shaped around so many bones. "These things take time," he
said, though they didn't. "Let's not rush into anything we'll regret."
He seemed to arouse the motherly instinct in some women, if only in the
future tense.
Presently, she sat up, blowing her nose and looking ardently at him
through tear-rimmed eyes. "You can stay here. You've no place else to
go, and they'll be looking for you."
"Well," he said--but it was true. He shouldn't be wandering on the
streets.
He slept that night on a sink that converted to a bed. It would have
been more comfortable unconverted.
* * * * *
He crept out in the morning before she was awake. He paused outside
to scribble a note, principally to throw her off his track. You never
could tell with so unstable a person. Implicated in his escape, she
might nevertheless report to the hospital. He shoved the note under the
door and left quickly and quietly.
His first move was to buy a hat, which entailed further trouble. The
doctors had overcompensated in replacing the missing brain tissue and,
in piecing a skull together, had constructed an outsized head on which
nothing seemed to fit. By careful shopping, he found something that did
fit and, when he'd clapped it on, he happily noted it concealed the
tricolor hair ... one item less to attract attention.
He ate and afterward walked to the rocketport. It was a long distance
and formerly he might have complained, but now he didn't mind it. The
miles seemed to have shrunk to furlongs.
He found the big _Interplanet_ sign and examined the place minutely
from the outside. Once he had worked there, technically he still did.
Some memories came back, but not many. He needed at least an hour
inside to enable him to forget the hospital and its psychotherapy.
Once cleared, he would be free for a while to concentrate on what to do
about Erica.
The hospital evidently had yet to call in the police. He was still safe
on the streets, but the medicos must have notified _Interplanet_ and
all other places at which he might show up. However, the company was
too big for everyone to know about him this soon. More likely there
would be only a few who could have information on him as yet. The trick
was to bypass those individuals who might try to detain him and still
get where he wanted.
Normally, he'd go to the front office after an accident. This time, he
went to the side gate and when the guard looked at him questioningly,
mumbled, "Reporting for duty." Which got him through.
Inside, there were more memories awaiting him. Depending on them, he
walked rapidly through hall after hall and finally found the desk he
sought. The man behind it looked up. "Are you sure you're in the right
place?" he asked.
Merrol would soon know. "Reporting for duty," he stated.
This reply elicited a puzzled expression. "The devil you are. We
haven't hired anyone new."
"I'm not new. I've been injured, and this is my first time back. Dan
Merrol's my name."
"Okay, where's your slip?"
"Slip?" he asked, stalling. This was something he ought to know about,
but didn't.
"Sure, the release from the front office after an injury."
"They said they'd send it down," he replied, holding his breath.
* * * * *
The clerk pawed through the stack. "They don't send nothing down," he
growled. "I'll call and find out." His hand reached out and then he
relaxed. "No use bothering them, it'll get here tomorrow." He looked up
and laughed. "Red tape," he said by way of explanation. "Why should I
doubt you? If you said they released you, then they did."
Merrol was glad to see one man who wasn't impressed by office routines.
Still, his behavior was a little puzzling.
The man screened on. The communication unit was behind the desk, tilted
so he couldn't see it. The volume was low, but Dan could hear the
conversation from this end. "Got a case for you. Name is Dan Merrol. I
don't know, he's before my time."
The reply was faint and Dan didn't catch it. But the clerk added, "He
seems okay. What? Sure he's got a release. Would I send him in?"
He cut the connection and looked up. "Go over to Psych. They'll test
you. If you pass, we'll put you back on schedule." He started to turn
away and saw Merrol standing there. "What's the matter?"
"I don't know where Psych is."
"I see. We must have moved things since you were here." The man got up
and pointed. "Down there and turn left at the second corner. You can't
miss."
The examiner was scanning a card as he entered. "Lots of experience,"
he commented. "We'll pass over the written stuff. That's for kids, to
make sure they've studied their lessons. After you've been out this
long, you can almost feel a course faster than anyone can figure it."
It was a relief. Merrol didn't know how much theory he remembered, but
was sure he could still lift a ship as well as the next man.
The examiner made a notation on the card and tossed it into a machine
that snapped it up and clicked furiously over it. "Let's take the
biggest thing first, if you're up to it."
"I feel fine." It was not true, but it was the customary answer.
Anything else, and he'd be shunted off into a series of meaningless
tests, each designed to verify the results of previous tests. An
ingenious scheme rigged up by the psych crew in their spare time
to see how complicated they could make any given system. Answered
straightforwardly, they rushed a man through with a minimum of
officiousness.
"Okay, let's take the trip."
He accompanied Dan into a room unlike the others. For one thing, it
might have been the control room of a ship. Forward, there was the
usual clear view. The stars were there too, in an adaptation of the
planetarium. Outside, arranged to give any effect from top acceleration
to free fall, were a number of gravity coils. Except for the pilot--and
Merrol would play that role--there was a full complement of officers
who were invisible.
* * * * *
The tester flicked on a machine. "I'll give you Mars, because that's
your usual run. This is a short drive, because you're in a favorable
position. Got it?"
Merrol nodded and climbed into the seat, facing the instruments.
"I've turned on the best crew simulators, better than you'd ever
actually get. Don't worry about them, just take the data and flit the
way you think you should." The tester clamped a mike inches away and
adjusted the visio-recorders firmly on his head, where electron beams
could sneak in and tap his optic centers. "The first trip after you've
been away is rough, but you'll make it."
Merrol strapped himself in and hoped the other man was right.
The examiner went to the door, turned and grinned. "Watch out for the
interplanetary goose," he called and snapped the switch.
Merrol was now in a ship. In the back of his mind there was some doubt
of his ability, but it didn't reach as far as his fingers. Rockets
vibrated beneath him. Outside, he could see the glazed earth-slick. He
touched the power and climbed above the clouds. The sky turned black
and there were stars.
He checked position. The tester had given him a setup. The Moon was
out of the way and the run to Mars was the shortest on record. If he
couldn't handle this, he wasn't a pilot.
The seat jabbed him suddenly. That's what he'd been warned about--he'd
been expecting it and still wasn't prepared. The tempathy drugs flooded
into him and the needle was withdrawn.
Takeoff and landing were always rehearsed on the pilot's own time.
The ends of a voyage were critical and it was essential to have an
undistorted reaction. Besides, neither took long.
The time between one planet and the next was long and nothing much
happened, so it could be shortened without deleterious effect on the
results. Tempathy drugs shortened it, though not completely. Part of a
man's consciousness went along at normal speed and the rest, that which
counted in jockeying rockets, was enormously telescoped.
It telescoped on Merrol. He couldn't see. Rather, part of him could
but, for the other fraction, images passed in front of his eyes too
fast for his mind to evaluate. Weeks flipped past in minutes. It
was a dream world turned inside out--the roles of consciousness and
unconsciousness were reversed.
There was something wrong with the sounds he half-heard. He could get
emotions, though he couldn't separate them into sense. There were
additional voices that shouldn't be there--the mechanical crew spoke to
him giving silent data--but there were other actual voices, fearful or
consolatory. He tried to speak, but his vocal cords were preempted.
He was doing it all, speaking, moving the controls, directing the ship
between planets. It ought to be easier than takeoff, but it wasn't. He
shouldn't be afraid of anything he might find out there--which was
nothing--but that didn't alter conditions. He was profoundly disturbed,
and he hoped the tester noticed it.
The examiner did spot trouble. He opened the door and reversed the
switch. Lights went on, and another needle speared him, counteracting
the effects of the tempathy drugs. Slowly the ship disappeared, space
along with it, and the room whirled back into view and settled down.
Something handed him back his eyes and ears.
"Easy," said the man. "Sit there. You don't have to move. We'll find
out what's wrong. It may not be serious at all."
* * * * *
Unhooking the visio-recorder, the tester also swung the mike away. "You
were doing fine," he said. "Never saw anything smoother. About here,
though, you seemed to be having difficulty. We'll slow it down and see
what it was."
He snapped the reels in place and darkened the room. On the screen
was the vision-port and, through it, a view of Mars. A fleck of light
glittered, grew, became a cloud, a swarm. A swarm?
"God!" said the tester, bewildered. "A billion butterflies! How could
you imagine butterflies, twenty million miles from a planet?"
Merrol squirmed--he didn't know either. What was wrong with him to make
him dream up butterflies?
The examiner switched the film off and the lights on. "So you missed
them--why, I don't know." He fiddled with another machine. "We'll slow
down the sound, synchronize the two of them later, but maybe by itself
the sound will give us a clue as to what happened."
"What's that?" It came from the sound track, but it was Merrol's voice.
"Those are lepidoptera." Another voice, also his, though of different
pitch and timbre--his, because he was the only one there to speak.
"I've always dreamed of discovering a new species and at last I have,
since these can fly through space. What strange adaptations they have
made. Aren't they beautiful?"
He answered. "They won't be when I plow through them. The rockets will
fry them."
"Turn aside!" shouted the lepidopterist. "You can't destroy them."
"I'm going to act as if this were not happening," said a cultured
voice. "_Bang-bang!_"
"This is upsetting," said a different person. "Since I have
no instrument, I'll listen with my memory to a Bach concerto.
Unfortunately, it ends in the middle of the third movement, as though
it has been sliced through with a knife that separated one note cleanly
from the next. Still, it's better to have this than nothing."
"Your computers are awfully slow," said the fifth. "I'll figure out a
new course for us."
"Gimme the controls," said the wrestler. "I'll turn the ship, if I
hafta do it with my bare hands."
The examiner snapped off the sound and busied himself with things that
may have been necessary. "You don't have to sit there," he said after a
while. "Wait outside." He glanced down, "Be careful when you move, the
control column will fall off. Didn't know it could be broken."
As he got out of the seat, the examiner slapped his back. "Tell you
what, fellow--don't wait--go now to the Compensation Board and see
about retirement."